Chucky Dream
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“Well, Miss Dream,” he said softly, “you are one of a kind.”
I turned to see him standing by the open door. He wore dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt with his name in block letters on the chest. His feet were bare. A smile curved around his lips as he walked over to me.
He took my hand and led me into the room. I glanced up at him as I followed him inside. He didn’t seem too surprised that it was empty or upset that I had no luggage. I wondered if it bothered him. The thought made me uncomfortable. I felt so naked without my clothes.
It wasn’t right that I should be naked here when I knew he would soon return home with my things. That meant we really did have something going on between us. We shared an attraction that neither one of us could deny. And for some reason, it felt good to know this.
The room had two windows looking out onto the street outside. The sun shone brightly through both windows as though God Himself was trying to illuminate our relationship. There were a couple of wooden chairs placed near the window and then there were several dressers along the wall opposite the door.
The bed was against the back wall with three nightstands on either side of it. There was another door leading out from the room.
We stood in silence, holding hands until we reached the bed. He looked down at me, but before I could say anything, he pulled me into his arms and held me close. My skin prickled under his touch.
It was hard to believe we were doing this now—this very moment in time. I’d been running away since my parents died, and here I was in a strange town with someone who didn’t even know what kind of a person I really was. And yet, this man seemed to accept me for exactly who I was. No one else had ever accepted me like this.
He lifted my chin with his fingers, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes glowed in the sunlight as they searched mine.
“What do you think about all this?” he asked quietly.
I blinked, feeling a little confused. Did he mean the whole situation? Or did he mean the feelings between us? I couldn’t tell anymore. Everything was so tangled up in knots. But the only answer I could give was the truth.
“I’m not sure yet.”
His brow creased with worry. “Are you scared?”
“No!” I almost laughed, thinking how absurd it was to be afraid of being with him, knowing how much danger I faced every day of my life. He wouldn’t want me anyway if he knew that.
He stared down into my eyes, searching them carefully. “Then why aren’t you sure?”
My throat tightened and my voice broke a bit on the last word. I swallowed and then repeated, “I’m not sure.”
He studied my face for a long minute. Then he nodded slowly. “Good answer.”
A small smile spread across his mouth as he lowered his head to kiss me lightly. I tilted my head slightly to the side so he would brush his lips against mine. Our kisses grew deeper as our tongues danced together.
His fingers traced over my cheeks, stroking gently as though he were trying to memorize the feel of my skin. It made me tremble. I pressed closer to him, wanting more of him. I wanted it all!
He cupped my cheek with one hand and then trailed his finger down the length of my neck. My breath caught in my throat as I watched his eyes watch me intently as he moved lower to the swell of my breast. Then he drew away abruptly.
“Why don’t we get your clothes first,” he said softly as he took a step back toward the dresser.
With shaking hands, I opened the drawer and began removing my jewelry box and other trinkets. I set everything down on the chair next to the bed.
“You never told me you had these,” he said as he picked up a brooch shaped like a star.
“I bought them in a store in Chicago after I met you.” I blushed as I realized how true that statement was. I hadn’t bought anything for myself since I’d left my parents’ home.
He glanced up at me from where he knelt by the chair, holding up the brooch to the light. He smiled at me before returning to the dresser to look through my other things. He stopped short when he found a necklace that I always wore during hunting season. It was an engraved silver pendant with a large, round stone hanging from a chain around my neck.
There wasn’t enough light in the room for him to see the engraving, so he removed the necklace and put it down on the desk. “Where did you get this?”
I sat down on the edge of the bed while he continued to stare down at the pendant. “I stole it off some dead man’s neck during my second year at college. It was my birthday present from my father. My mother never liked it and refused to wear it. So, she gave it to me.”
His gaze snapped to mine. “Did your father die?”
I hesitated for a moment before answering, wondering if I should lie to him. If I lied to anyone, he’d probably find out eventually anyway. But what could I say? That my dad had died years ago and my mother had thrown me into a whorehouse and sold my body to whoever paid her best price?
And I hated lying to him. What good did it do? Nothing. All it would lead to was him hating me even more than he already seemed to hate himself. So, I decided to be honest. “Yes.”
“How old are you, Miss…?”
“Kitty,” I answered quickly. “I’ll be nineteen next month.”
He turned away from me as if to hide the pain I saw in his eyes. I reached out and touched his shoulder.
“That’s a terrible story,” he whispered sadly.
I swallowed hard, feeling the tears burn behind my eyes as I gazed down at him. He looked so miserable. The sadness and despair were etched deeply into his features. I knew I’d hurt him. Why else would he still be there? No one would stay with me unless they wanted something from me. But he stayed because he cared about me. Wasn’t that worth a lot more than anything that I ever thought or dreamed?
He stood up and came to me, kneeling again by the bed. He cupped my cheek with his warm palm. He leaned forward until his lips brushed mine.
“I’m sorry, Miss Kitty,” he whispered, “that’s such a terrible story.”
He bent his head and kissed my lips again before pulling away from me. Then he held up the pendant and said, “Do you think this belonged to your father?”
The pendant had a strange resemblance to a family crest I once saw in an engraving book. But it was too worn to tell anything about its origin. And it was too small to read the words that were inscribed on the inside of the pendant. “Probably,” I replied with a shrug of my shoulders. “I can only remember seeing it a couple of times.”
He handed me back the pendant without saying another word as he returned to the dresser. When he turned back to face me, he smiled and asked, “May I see those now?”
So I stood up, picked up the bag with the clothes, and put it down on the table beside my writing box. As I went over to the door, I noticed a folded piece of paper on the chair, sitting atop a stack of books. The envelope was sealed with wax.
“What is that?” I asked as I picked up the letter, noticing the handwriting on the outside of the envelope. It appeared to be a note written by someone who obviously loved someone very much. I opened it and read: “My love, I am forever yours. You will always have my heart.”
I stared down at the letter, not knowing what to do with it. Should I return it to the desk? Or was it something I should throw away? But then again, it might be important to someone, like maybe it was to me.
I slipped the note into my pocket and went over to the window to look out at the night sky. The stars were shining brightly, and I felt as if they were watching me. There must have been fifty constellations in the heavens. And they all seemed to shine just for me. They weren’t just there for others; they were mine.
“You know,” he said softly, “you really can write beautiful stories.”
***
I glanced over at the young man sitting across from me. He was wearing one of his button-down shirts. His hair was combed, and the black silk tie around his neck looked nice against his fair skin.
When he’d first come into the room, he sat quietly at the far end of the bed, looking at me. Now he was sitting closer to me, studying me with his bright blue eyes.
We’d talked about a lot of things during our time together. Some of which I didn’t think was any of his business. But he had listened and seemed genuinely interested to hear everything I told him.
But there was still one thing we hadn’t discussed yet. One subject I couldn’t bring myself to talk about with him. I knew he wouldn’t like what I had to say and it would hurt him badly. But when I tried to push the conversation to a different direction, he gently steered it back to where it had been before. He never pushed me. Just kept asking questions until I could give him an answer.
His hand rested on top of the table, and he rubbed his thumb along his index finger. “Do you ever wonder why your father left?”
There was a long silence between us as I thought about how to reply to him. Finally, I answered, “No.”
“Why not?” he asked, turning toward me.
He looked so sad. So lost and confused and hurt that I didn’t want to add to his misery by telling him the truth about my life. Not wanting to be cruel, but also afraid of hurting him, I shrugged my shoulders and said nothing more.
“Is this a test?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
He took a deep breath, and the muscles in his jaw tensed. “Then please tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I replied as I leaned back against the window seat.
He studied my profile for several minutes, then sighed loudly and said, “Maybe it would help if you talked about it.”
So I gave him a brief account of my early years after my mother died. It wasn’t easy talking about such painful memories and feelings, but I found comfort in being honest. I told him how I felt alone, unwanted, and abandoned; how my father treated me harshly and even worse than his other children; and how the other ranch hands teased me.
“It seems unfair,” he said, “that you have to endure so much pain because of what happened to your mother.”
I nodded my agreement as I gazed at his handsome face and remembered the first time I ever saw him. The day I came upon him hanging upside down by his ankles in the barn loft.
“How old were you?” he asked when I finished telling him about the barn incident.
“Eighteen.”
The corners of his mouth lifted. “Seems like it’s been a while since someone has given you a birthday party.”
“That’s true,” I said, smiling.
We both laughed at the thought and I suddenly became aware that he was staring at me, and the smile had faded from his lips. He was studying me with a look I’d never seen before. It made me nervous, wondering what he was thinking.
“What are you doing here?” he finally asked as he turned to me once more.
“Looking for a way out.”
“And you found one.”
“Not exactly.”
I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t say anything else, I decided to tell him the rest. “This whole thing was a setup,” I said, “and I fell right into the trap. I’ve learned my lesson and won’t make that mistake again. So if I’m caught, they’ll probably put me away for a very long time. This time, I won’t be able to escape.”
He stared at me blankly for several seconds. Then he got up and walked over to the sideboard and poured himself a glass of water. He gulped half of it down before returning to his chair. “What do you mean?”
“They planned my entire trip to San Francisco with the intent to arrest me and throw me in prison.”
A frown marred his forehead, and he shook his head sadly. “Why? Wasn’t anyone protecting you?”
“My aunt did try her best, but she was never fully trusted by the other ranch hands. So she kept quiet about the fact that I was planning to go to California to meet my sister-in-law.”
“Who is your sister-in-law?”
“Alice.”
He smiled brightly, and I wondered at the sudden change in his expression. “You met Alice?”
“Yes, just before we left.”
“Well, then, you must have known that your aunt didn’t trust you.”
“But why?”
“She thought you’d run off with all the money your father left for you. She believed you’d steal it and leave without telling her.”
I shook my head quickly. “No! That’s not true.” I was sure Alice didn’t believe that and neither did I. I knew my father had left me enough money to live comfortably. I hadn’t stolen any of it. In fact, I’d only spent a small portion of what he’d left me and was still putting some of the money into savings accounts.
“I don’t think your aunt believed you either,” he continued, “so she kept quiet about it when the marshals arrived.”
“Marshals?”
He nodded. “When I overheard their conversation, I knew exactly who they were searching for.”
“So you followed them to the train station and watched until they picked me up.”
“Exactly.”
I stared at him as I tried to comprehend everything that had transpired these last few weeks. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have allowed myself to be taken in by such an obvious lie? But I couldn’t blame him for wanting to help me—anyone would have done the same thing.
Still, he’d put me in this situation and now he had to deal with it. There was no going back, and I certainly wouldn’t let him pay the price for my mistakes. “You shouldn’t have done this,” I said, “because now they know where to find you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said, taking a seat once more. “This time I’m ready. I have a plan to get you out of there, but I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Will you stay away from men while I’m gone?”
“Of course.”
His eyes twinkled in amusement at my response. “There will be other marshals on the lookout for you.”
“Other marshals? You think they’ll send more than three?”
“Three seems like a lot of trouble for only a single girl to cause.” He paused and seemed to be considering my question before continuing. “Actually, there might be as many as six looking for you.”
It took a moment for me to absorb his words, and when I did, my mind went into a tailspin. Six? That was almost half of what he’d told me. “Six?” I asked.
“Maybe even more. They’re not likely to send less than three, especially after you escaped once already.”
I shuddered at the thought of spending another night in that awful room. My throat dried as I swallowed hard. It didn’t matter if I had to spend a year in jail waiting for trial, as long as I could escape.
Even though six marshals weren’t likely to capture me, it didn’t mean they wouldn’t kill me first. If one of those marshals was a man I knew, like Jake or Tom, my life would be over, and there was nothing I could do to stop them.
Not even the marshal who had taken my gun had managed to shoot me, and that made me wonder: Why? Did he know I would escape? Or was there someone else who wanted me dead? Who was responsible for the attack against me?
“Did the marshall who took your gun mention anything about the marshals who attacked you?” I finally blurted out, hoping to distract him from his current line of questioning.
He shook his head. “That’s the reason I’m worried about being spotted. What if someone recognized me and sent others in my place?” He reached for his whiskey glass and poured us each a drink. “If they see me with you, they won’t suspect I might be the kidnapper. The real culprit will still be able to come and take you.”
I drank deeply, wishing I could drown my confusion in alcohol, but I couldn’t afford to lose control. I was too close to escaping to let this stop me now.
We sat quietly for a moment, both sipping our drinks in silence. I watched the whiskey swirl inside the glass as I waited for him to make up his mind, wondering why he wasn’t asking more questions about how I’d escaped, or who might want to harm me. Finally, I spoke again.
“The marshals didn’t seem to suspect you were the person who attacked me,” I began.
He smiled and shook his head. “How can you tell?”
I shrugged and leaned forward in the chair, lowering my voice when I continued. “When they left, Marshal Burt asked if I knew who kidnapped me.”
“What did you say?”
“I pretended to be confused by his question and didn’t answer.”
“Good.”
“And then he asked if I had any idea why anyone would kidnap me.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
“I see.” He nodded and looked around the empty saloon, seemingly lost in thought. After a time he returned his attention to me. “So you believe that you were set up?”
“Yes.”
“Who do you think is behind this?” he asked, pouring himself another shot of whiskey.
I thought back to the attack on the stage. Was that the work of another outlaw? Or perhaps someone else—may be one of the marshals? “Marshal Burt doesn’t know it yet, but the man who kidnapped you might be right under his nose.”
“Me?” he repeated in surprise, staring at me for a few moments. “Why would he target me?”
“Because he knows who you are.”
“What makes you think that?”
“He asked if you knew who kidnapped me.” I leaned closer to him and lowered my voice to a whisper. “I overheard their conversation in the alley behind the hotel.”
He frowned and stared into the empty glass for a moment before turning to look at me again. “But why would he think that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he heard some news about me that led him to conclude I was involved in the kidnapping plot against you.”
“You’re suggesting he knows something about me.” He lifted an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of my theory. But he didn’t ask for details, and that bothered me. “Or maybe he’s simply trying to get information about me and thinks I’m involved in the kidnappings. Either way, it looks bad for you.”
“Why?”
“If he thinks you’re connected to the kidnapping, it means there may be more marshals out there hunting for you,” he said.
My mouth went dry and my heart pounded as I considered what he was telling me. That meant the marshal was looking for someone other than me. It also meant that he must know I would have no connection to the kidnapping unless it had been planned in advance. “Do you know if Marshal Burt has been investigating my family since he arrived?”
“No,” he admitted. “He only recently moved here after his father retired and died last year. He seems to be a good man, though,” he added, “and very dedicated. I’ve never seen him angry.”
“Then maybe the marshal isn’t looking for me at all. Perhaps he wants to find the kidnappers, or whoever else he thinks might be responsible.”
His eyebrows rose. “You believe that?”
“It doesn’t make sense otherwise,” I said, not sure why I felt so certain about this, considering we hadn’t spoken about it yet. “I mean, you know how important your work with the marshals is to you.”
He raised his glass to me in a toast. “Exactly. And the marshals are doing everything they can to protect innocent people. They wouldn’t want anything to happen to them either.”
I thought about how many marshals had come to town over the years to investigate attacks on the railroad, and how quickly they had left once they found nothing to prove my family’s innocence. “They won’t find out who’s behind the killings until they catch someone, or until someone confesses.”
I glanced around the saloon for a moment. “Unless Marshal Burt gets some information from you that leads him to suspect me.”
The corner of his mouth turned up and he gave me a small smile. “That sounds like a plan.”
The End